Who Are You Again?

Hi!  Welcome back!  To me, mostly.  I've been deep in the throes of starting my new career over these past two months, to the point where I actually took about a month off from the 365 project just to stay functional.  But today is the day I get back to it, and to celebrate that, I wanted to share what I did from 04/22/18-05/19/18 (which is when I accepted things would need to be put on hiatus).  I took pictures of pages rather than individual pieces, in an attempt to actually get this whole thing done today, so commentary will be shorter than usual (although, obviously, the entirety of the post will be somewhat longer).

Greenbreathing.

I spent several days trying to capture the way that being in the woods brings me peace.  There's a poem in the left image, and here's how it goes:

Steps slow and burdened/Searching for the way I’ve lost/I pace the leaf floor

Following the path/Dark and light and dark again/Deep into the wild

The weight of sorrow/Pressing on my lungs: exhaled/Gathered up by Them

The Ancient Ones, still/Breathing with me in silence/Lifting my burden

From poison to life/In the space between heartbeats/They transmute my pain

Out and in and out/The one becomes the other/The other the one

My balance restored/Light and dark and light again/I find my way home

Sweet Things

I'm super into The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl.  You should be, too.  And then I found a pretty pittie who had wandered away from her home, and she was so sweet I called her Dulcinea.  Happy ending: she was reunited with her family after I took her to the Humane Society.  Also Happy Ending: I painted her without drawing first.  Progress!

Unfinished Business

I love what I've got going here, with my maenad and her satyrs, but I spent several days on it and it refused to progress.  I'll probably come back to it, someday.

Blue

I finished the first sketchbook on the last day of April.  I'd been reading a book that dealt with whales (Deep Wizardry) and it inspired my doodling that day (and I quoted it up there in the upper right corner).  (The lyrics in the lower left corner are from a song by Young Summer called "Waves That Rolled You Under", and I highly recommend you go listen to it right now.)

X Factor

Just a little green study of Madame X, because I was still working on painting without drawing first.

Jackalope Got Me Down will be the name of my first album.

More paintings without drawing, with limited success.  The Jackalope thing is because for some reason TLG took it into his head that anytime he fell down it was appropriate to say, "Jackalope got me down!" We have no idea where he picked that up from, but obviously we find the idea of blaming things on random jackalope attacks hilarious.

Damn good appetizer

Not much to say about these, except that I put a million layers into that cherry tomato and I think it looks awesome.  Also, the quote "He's my Wade and I'm keeping him!" is from the last time I played DnD (waaaay too long ago, now), and my character Severan sort of accidentally picked up an NPC squire and basically he's the Podrick to her Brienne now.  I'll hear no arguments.

Rainspheres (as opposed to bows) over the Grand Canyon, and also some Geese.

Red lips and purple ties.

Feet silhouetted in the pool at night, Super Professional Face.

These are all from my trip to Tempe at the beginning of May, where I had maybe five minutes each night to sketch something out before I dropped into bed, exhausted.

Love Undying

This last one, you'll notice, has a whole lot of dates next to it, and no color whatsoever.  That's because after nearly a week of making incremental progress, and feeling super stressed out about it, I realized that I needed to give myself a break.  So I did.  Which brings us to today, and this blog entry.  And once I finish this blog entry,  I'll start laying in some colors.  So stay tuned, Gentle Readers, and thanks for sticking with me for this long.

TimeLine

but maybe time
is like a rope
many moments twisting to form a day
days twisting to form a month
to form a year
a lifetime

and it is not the length of the rope
that should concern us
but rather its strength
(greater than its parts)

and rope does not lay out straight
stretching out into infinity
it is laid down in a coil
retracing its path
building upon where it's gone before
spiraling upwards
into the unknown

because a rope cannot be a line
until it's been cut off
its purpose finally revealed

Days and Years (or: The Photo Album)

the days are long
but the years are short

that is what they said to me

(that is what i say
to myself)

one by one
i place the days
into the months
of this past year

(such a tiny fraction
of my own life)

but i remember
placing the minutes
into the hours
of those days

(since you first drew breath)

and they were an endless chain

Tribute

we are spending the weekend
gloriously unplugged
just our little family
and the sea

i took my son down to see
the lord poseidon
in his cold and glorious
foyer

the last time we visited
(on my birthday)
i anointed my blood
with a bit of the lord's
(a pagan-catholic baptism
as it were)

today my blood
holds my hands
walks unsteadily
across the shifting sands
to greet our patron
properly

laugh and shriek
as the foam swirls about his ankles
ancient and newly-born
playing together
beneath an opalescent sun

grains

I Needed This

Stars like freckles on God's shoulders
Milky Way like dust from a moth's wings
I breathe easy now
Cradled between Sea and Sky

At peace with my tiny piece
In the Greater Pattern

Early Autumn Walk

beneath my feet
a carpet of stars
shining pale pink and yellow

above my head
a ceiling of bright blue
gilded with white tracery

around my body
soaring columns
hung with marbled jade

surely this ballroom
host to a dance of stillness
is the finest in all Creation

Feeling It

i didn't feel like "a mother"
for a very long time
not when i lost
that first fluttering heartbeat
or the second
not when i birthed
the fully formed third(first)
not when i held him
in my arms
instead of
my womb

not when i nursed him
or read to him
and called him by name
not when i walked with him
in the sunshine
or the snow
not when other people
called me
"a mother"
not when i woke
night after night after night
and sleep deprivation
became the new normal
not when I had to
go back to work
and felt sick to my stomach at leaving him
not when he crawled
or stood
reaching out for me
laughing

but yesterday
yesterday
when i heard the news
and i wept
for another woman
that's when i finally
finally
realized
what it meant
to be a mother
and that of course
of course
i feel like one

small

this is what we'll do
we'll start
small
we'll wake up
fifteen minutes earlier
(just fifteen!)
so that we can do
one sun salutation
(just one!)
as our son slumbers on
and we will ignore
that part of ourselves that says
"Yes but..."
and tries to fill us
with feelings of inadequacy.
because it doesn't matter
what we used to be
able to do
what matters now
is that we are starting again
small
because lately we have become
very good
at handling small things.

On the Harlyquin Glorybower (in Autumn)

dark wings land
on the gnarled branch
of a half-dead tree
proprietary

i admire the way
his black gloss
is stippled by white
artistic

i imagine paint
flicked from the tip
of a flexing brush
careless

a new arrival
interrupts my thoughts
wings invisible
zephyric

quick brown kisses
for the bright pink buds
zipping in and out
earnest

i watch her flit
torn between delight
and sympathy
rueful

she'll find no nourishment there
they're seed pods
dressed up in sister's petals
masquerading

alone once more
my freckled friend hops
from one branch to the next
curious

his hauteur
shrugged off in an instant
turned to fluff
content

Fret

i've heard tell
of heartstrings
tugged by circumstance

(tugging sounds so polite)

mine were not tugged
but rather plucked
by that so-unexpected hand of fate

violently stirred
into twanging dissonance
that keeps all sleep at bay

it was not strings
but wires
meant to keep you safe
meant to keep you sound

those wires
twisted
those wires
turned
your heart against itself

i wait
and wonder
where fate's gentle palm
will come to rest

which will be muted

strings
or wires

We All Fall Down

I was inspired by the Horrible Plague currently making its way through my friends and family (and me) to play with and old nursery rhyme, and this is what I came up with:

fallen rose petals
strewn in a bloody circle
we fill our pockets

ash drifting like snow
warming bodies through the night
none of us will rise


Of course, as I was reading more about Ring Around the Rosies, I discovered that what I "knew" (that it was a sort of garbled description of the Plague) is not necessarily accurate, and in fact wasn't even a theory until halfway through the 1900s.  As such, I felt compelled to write another version, one which hearkens back to other, older understandings of the rhyme:

sweet beneath the blooms
our elder will protect us
ring within a ring

six hands joined as one
silent as death in a cup
they will not find us

The Going to Bed Haiku

before the wolf's howl
echoes into sad silence
the light has vanished

we swarm like mayflies
reborn in silken tendrils
of steam, soap, and scent

our skin clean and soft
we wrap, unwrap, wrap again
protecting ourselves

scoured gleaming white
the blade of a crescent moon
smiling in the dark

a heavy lantern
swinging low among the stars
we move to her song

slowly we spiral
fallen leaves in a deep pool
we drift towards slumber

our whispers weaving
like a wind-born lullabye
wrapping us in love

how high the moon climbs
how deep her watery twin dives
caught between, we sleep

Seiren

I did not sing
To lure them
I sang for myself alone.

I sang for myself alone
And yet they came
Claiming I called them.

Claiming I called them
They dashed themselves
Upon the sharp rocks of my heart.

Upon the sharp rocks of my heart
A scattering of broken shells
Tossed about by the tide.

Tossed about by the tide
Souls adrift in the cold uncaring sea
I could not leave them there.

I could not leave them there
And so I pulled them deeper
But I did not sing.

Caryatid

nothing good comes quickly

(i have nothing but quick moments
these days)

of course
taking too long to begin
can lead to nothing at all

this is what i tell myself
as i sit
staring
at this unbroken field of white

i long for something wonderful
(i long for anything at all)
to issue forth from my fingers
from my soul

i dig in deeper
trying to throw off the block
that's weighing down
my unresponsive muse

Song for the Sleepless

And now the kraken,
Stirring in his dark chamber,
Unleashes his roar.

No slumber for him;
No slumber for me, either.
Sleep is for the weak.

Monsters are not weak,
And a kraken is monstrous.
(So is a zombie)

Jack Be...

Remember those ornaments I was making?  Well, they were in preparation for a baby shower I was hosting, which went down today.  The theme was "Jack of Hearts" (hence the cards), a theme I highly recommend if you happen to be throwing a baby shower less than a month before Valentine's Day.  Talk about convenient!

Anyway, one of the bits of the shower that I was especially proud of was the Guest Book I cobbled together:

(Three guesses what the baby's name is, and the first two don't count)

On the first page I wrote this rather lengthy introduction- 

Everyone knows the old rhyme:

Jack be nimble

Jack be quick

Jack jump over

The candlestick

But a boy should be more than just nimble and quick!  Perhaps the rest of the rhyme goes something like this:

Jack be joyful

Jack be brave

Jack sail every

Ocean wave

Or this:

Jack be clever

Jack be kind

Jack know when

To just unwind

Or even this:

Jack be honest

Jack be sly

Jack just balance

Truth with lie

Please add to the book your name and what YOU wish for Jack (and don't worry, it doesn't have to be in rhyme!) 

Once people started jotting down their advice, it turned out even better than I could have imagined!  So many thoughtful, clever, funny, touching sentiments.  It made me wish I'd thought to do something like that for Neeps (although there's no nursery-rhyme precedent for his name).  I suppose it's not too late to go around making sad eyes at my friends whilst clutching an empty notebook...

A Scattering of Blossoms

my son in haiku-
pretty easy to sum up
look, i'll do it now:

he's so freaking cute
i cannot resist those cheeks
i have to chub them

but now more effort
to fall in line with the art
of old school haiku:

the moon sees herself
reflected in the still pool:
your cheek to my breast

cherry blossom sweet
your breath warm against my skin:
the days find balance

Smoothing the Rough Patches

Remember when I said that I got Nathan woodworking lessons for our five year anniversary?  Well there's actually more to that story.  You see, they were originally scheduled for June 12th, 13th, and 14th.  June 12th was a Thursday, and my second day back at work after the miscarriage.  That evening, of course, is when I hemorrhaged, and ended up in the ER.  Needless to say, Nathan did not go to the second or third day.

After things had settled down a bit, I reached out to the woodworking studio and arranged for Nathan to finish up the lessons.  That's what he's been doing yesterday and today, and this evening he brought home a lovely little box:

like butter

Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, I joked that I hadn't even bled out or anything- that's progress!  And he admitted that he'd had paranoid thoughts of his own while he was in class.  It's a weird thing- we're both really happy that he's finally getting to do this thing he's wanted to do for so long, but we're also... skittish.

Some of you know that I've been avoiding Facebook recently.  There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason is that I sort of can't take any more photos of babies right now.  It's just a little too painful- or (and this is honestly worse) I find myself feeling nothing about these babies that I'm supposed to love.  Which makes me feel like an awful human being.  I understand that I'm not, of course, but I also understand that I am a grown-ass woman, and if something is making me feel bad, then I need to remove myself from the situation rather than bitching and moaning about what "other people" are doing or expecting of me.  Hence the Facebook hiatus.

I decided to pop back on last night, because I needed an address from the messaging portion of the site, and unfortunately the first thing I saw were pictures of a woman who is five months pregnant.  A woman whom I love deeply.  And I just... cringed.  Which told me that yep, I've made the right decision to stay away for the time being.

(I've had to check old messages twice since then, and I've taken to covering the majority of the screen with my hand until I have nothing but text displayed.  It's working quite well.)

Anyway, all of that was to sort of put a moment from this morning into context; I was out with Isis on her PT walk, and she was upset about not being allowed to chase a rabbit.  This prompted me to say to her,

"Yeah, well, I was supposed to be six months pregnant and in Scotland right now, so suck it up."

::sigh::

I came across a beautiful quote this afternoon, by the poet Edward Hirsch:

"I don't like the whole language of healing, which seems to me so false. As soon as something happens to us in America, everyone begins talking about healing. But before you heal, you have to mourn. And I found that poetry doesn't shield you from grief, but it does give you an expression of that grief."

I feel like I'm definitely guilty of trying to heal first and then mourn.  I've been in such a hurry just to fucking be okay, that I sort of forgot that still being sad three months after my miscarriage isn't exactly unexpected, and it doesn't mean I'm weak or pathetic or obsessive.  It just means that I need to cut myself some fucking slack.

Anyway, in honor of Mr. Hirsch's words, here are two poems that do a good job of expression some of the things I've felt.  The first is one I penned, the second is by Matsuo Bashō.  I feel they go together quite well, although I did not come across the one by Bashō until about a month after I'd penned mine.  I guess it just goes to show that certain aspects of grief are universal.

Even the sky
Cannot be silent
In her grief 

*** 

All crying done
Nothing remains
But the shell of a cicada

This is Just to Say

Plums were on sale the last time I went to Chuck's, both red and black, and so I loaded up on the red ones, and that was on Wednesday and now it's Friday night and I've just eaten the last one (my fourth of the day) and all I can think is that I need to go get more plums like literally right now.



(Seriously you guys, it's been like eating succulent rubies imported directly from Bism.)



(Also, if my husband had eaten the last one before me I'd probably have murdered him, no matter how excellent a poem he left on the counter to replace it.)

Pre-Conceived Questions

sometimes i wonder
how it all went down
in the space/time Before

when we were just
two little twinkles
waiting our turn to be made flesh:

did we work together
to pick out our parents
or were we randomly assigned?

did we play a cut-throat game
of rock paper scissors
for who would go first?

(and if so
was I the winner
or was it you?)

is this our first joint campaign
or have we always battled
shoulder to shoulder?

(i tend to think the latter
because i cannot imagine a lifetime worth living
without you.)

(Siblings)